I am not forgetful

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Blue figs come once a year. Just as avocados do, grapes, and blackberries. Tangerines stay around for most of the year. Green isn’t just a color, it’s a cover and a safe haven.

This place reminds me of a better day when my grandmother used to look out of the kitchen window and sing songs at my sister, cousin, and I as we climbed the trees right outside. I miss her sweetness. I miss watching wheel of fortune with her. I miss her small chuckles when we would trip over ourselves after she had warned us about what was ahead.

As my mother healed she was there to take her role on, and I miss it all.

My grandfather is 90 now. He turned it a bit over a month ago, which is huge because after my grandmother pasted we didn’t think we would last much longer. He became frail, and we knew one could die of heart break.

Today he held my hand and wished me farewell on my way back up to work. Along with that he added, “If I don’t see you again, take very good care of yourself, drive safe, God bless you daughter.”

This window is found in the small hall way of my grandparents home. My grandfather rescued my grandmother for a place of hard abuse, fell in love with her, and quickly bought this place as soon as he could. There were rumors that it was build over a grave yard so the price that he got it for was a steal. He promised to take care of it, and has fought for the home ever since it became rightfully his. In my hands lie stories that could fill books about just this place, and I can only imagine how many we would fill if each one of my family members took the time to sit and share.

This is home. It’s gloomy now with the absence of young energy, and full smiles, but it’s still home. It will always be.

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